A Day in the Life
by Noofle
Summary: Just a bit of accidental body-swapping between Jack and the Doctor. What could possibly go wrong?
1. Drugged

**A/N: I couldn't help myself, I just had to write this. Anyway, enjoy. And, for those who don't know, Brittany is my OC. And many thanks to w1nter, my lovely editor!

* * *

**

**CHAPTER ONE: DRUGGED**

The planet Jamsheen was well known for its clubbing. Whole cities were dedicated to dance clubs, night clubs and, much to Captain Jack's delight, gay clubs. The Doctor had, thankfully, forbidden the Captain to enter any of the latter; Jack Harkness could get into enough trouble without looking for it in places like that, thank you very much.

It had become something of a tradition for the two time travellers to visit alien worlds without informing either the Torchwood team or the Doctor's current companion. For two beings that didn't need much sleep, nights could get incredibly boring. To the Doctor, it seemed that humans slept an awful lot, spending half their life with their heads on their pillows. And, since Jack had finished nearly every single video game ever invented during the nights he spent alone at the hub, they both had nothing much to do.

Usually it was Jack that suggested that they go visit some obscure planet, ringing the Doctor up and saying something along the lines of: "I have just finished Assassin's Creed for the twentieth time. Do you want to go ice-skating on Woman Wept?" Or: "I've just watched all six Star Wars movies in a row. Can we go to the paintball planet of Virgo V?" Or, possibly even: "If I stay here any longer, I'm going to accidentally blow up half of Cardiff. Wanna come shoot hoops with me?"

Tonight, it had been, "I've just beaten level 496 of Space Invaders. Let's go clubbing!"

Normally, the Doctor wouldn't have agreed to such a request, but he was bored off his trolley, having alphabetised his entire vinyl collection (which filled three whole rooms) five times. In a row.

Of course, the Doctor hadn't done too much dancing or drinking, but he had enjoyed himself. Whenever he was with the one and only Captain Harkness, he couldn't help but smile. Jack flirted with anything that moved, but that wasn't what amused the Doctor. No, it was the fact that nearly everyone that was on the receiving end of Jack's flirting actually accepted his advances. It was really quite funny to watch.

Music spilled out onto the streets as the Doctor and Jack walked back to the TARDIS. The latter was quite intoxicated, while the former was singing just for the hell of it. Three moons hung in the sky amid countless stars, casting a baleful glow down on the thronging streets.

The TARDIS was sitting right where it had been left, nestled between a rundown bottleshop and a nightclub claiming to be the 'Ludicrous Lounge'. There also appeared to be a two-headed yellow alien passed out of the timeship's doorstep.

The Doctor gingerly stepped over the unconscious alien and unlocked the TARDIS door. Jack was ushered into the control room, and the coordinates set for Cardiff. The time rotor began to hum as the Time Lord punched buttons and flicked switches with his hands, elbows and occasionally, feet.

Jack sank down into the room's only chair, singing loudly and rather flatly, though whether this was because the Captain was just inept at singing or had drunk far too much alcohol, it was hard to say.

"There I was, dancing high among the sta-ah-ah-ah-ars!" he crowed as the Doctor tapped out the beat on the mushroom-shaped console.

"Be careful you don't wake up Brittany," the Time Lord pointed out, adjusting a lever with a delicate motion from his foot. "And what's that song? Starlight by Jagrakh?"

Jack gave a nod accompanied by a lewd smile. "She was one hell of a singer! Belting out those songs as loud as a… I don't know, but it was pretty loud."

The Doctor rubbed his temple. He still had a headache from touring the alien nightclubs, and with Jagrakh being one of the Malthuse, a species of alien with lungs that made up around half their body weight, it probably wasn't going to go away any time soon. He was amazed that his ears hadn't started bleeding from the noise.

At least his query had interrupted the Captain's singing. Although, the silence didn't appear to be helping his headache. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse.

"Ooo, that can't be good," he groaned as his vision blurred, colours bleeding into one another. "That's really not good."

"Doctor?" Jack's voice was full of concern as the Captain rose to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?" the Doctor shot back, leaning on the console for support. All he could see was a dim wash of gold, but that was rapidly fading. "I can't see a thing!"

He could hear Jack moving across the floor towards him, and turned his head towards the sound. Everything was just a sea of swirling spots and just to make things worse, it felt like there was a team of miners intent on digging their way through his skull.

"Doctor, I think we better get you to the med centre –" Jack began, placing a hand on the Time Lord's shoulder, but he never managed to finish his sentence.

Pain shot up the Captain's arm and straight into his head. His eyes prickled and burning pain started to spread across his body. For the Doctor, it was even worse. He dropped to his knees in agony, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and clenching his jaw against the fire that was spreading out from the shoulder Jack had touched.

The Captain stumbled backwards, the room spinning around him. "Oh God," he cried just before he collapsed to the floor.

The Doctor held on for a few more seconds, curled up on the floor of the TARDIS. What was happening to him? Suddenly, clubbing with Jack didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. He just needed to warn Brittany.

He flailed around blindly until he found a switch on the side of the console. "Activate emergency protocol seven-one nine-six-five-alpha," he forced out through gritted teeth, flicking the switch. "Lock flight pattern to binary coordinate ten-zero-zero-one-zero-one by three-zero,"

The TARDIS began groaning loudly all around him, and he released his grip on the console, falling down into the deep darkness of unconsciousness.

The TARDIS flew on through the vortex, dancing across the eddies and currents like one born to it, heading for the galactic coordinate that had been designated before her pilot had passed out.

She hoped he would get better soon. The TARDIS cared for her Time Lord, and anyway, it was much more fun when he was around.


	2. You Have Got To Be Kidding Me!

**A/N: Chapter two, hooray. A message to all reviewers - I need you help coming up with places the TARDIS Team can visit. Please leave a suggestion!**

**Disclaimer: Do not own Torchwood or Doctor Who. But the idea for this story was mine, I tell ya, ALL MINE! (insert appropriate evil laugh here)

* * *

**

CHAPTER TWO: "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"

The Doctor woke, coughing and spluttering as water was poured all over his face.

Brittany smiled down at him. "Wakey wakey sunshine! Was the floor comfortable?" she jested, making sure that to shake the last few drops of water from her red bucket into his eye.

The Time Lord only groaned in response, sitting up very slowly. Dear Rassilon, his head was hurting almost as much as that time Captain Jack had dropped him off a building head first onto an old tatty mattress. Speaking of the charming Captain, what had happened last night? He had gone clubbing with Jack, hadn't he? That had obviously been a bad move. And what was that strange feeling in his stomach?

He rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily. The change from horizontal to vertical really hadn't helped with his headache, and in fact seemed to be exacerbating that strangely familiar feeling in his stomach.

Brittany whistled, and the Doctor clapped his hands over his ears. "How much did you drink last night?"

"Not much," the alien said, not certain of whether that was true or not. He was sure he'd had only one alcoholic drink last night, but why was his head hurting so much? And by all the Time Lords of Gallifrey, what in the seven systems was wrong with his voice?

"Sure, but it looks like you have one hell of a hangover."

_Oh_, the Doctor thought to himself as he raced for the nearest bathroom, _hangover. That's what the feeling in his stomach was. Been a while since he'd done this…_

After emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet, the Doctor washed the horrible taste out of his mouth using water from the sink. Then he made the mistake of looking in the mirror. "You have got to be kidding me!" he screeched with an all-too-familiar American twang.

Jack rolled onto his side, water dripping off his face and onto the floor. "That must have been one hell of a night," he muttered to himself, surprised at the strangeness of his voice. It was … different. Not bad, just different. For one, the vowels sounded all wrong. What had he been drinking last night? Furniture polish?

He dragged himself up onto the console room's lone chair with considerable ease, considering just how much he had drunk during the night. Actually, he didn't have much of a hangover either. Well, that had to be a first. If he had known that was going to happen, he would have drunk himself to stupefaction, and gotten the Doctor to carry him back home.

It seemed like whoever had chucked water all over him had buggered off, though Jack wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not. What if they came back? What would he do then? Hang on, he was in the TARDIS. He couldn't see the Doctor upending a bucket above his face, but Brittany was another matter. When he got his hands on her…

"Jack?"

The Captain turned at the sound of his name, and found himself face to face with, well, himself. The other man was like an exact copy, right down to the clothing, distribution of freckles and knock-your-socks-off good looks. It was at that moment that Jack caught sight of his own hand.

It wasn't really the hand that interested him, but rather the sleeve. It was brown. With pinstripes. Blue pinstripes.

"No way," Jack breathed, standing up and looking down at his suit. "What the hell were we drinking last night?" Then a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Although, I do look rather handsome."

"Jack, can you take your mind off flirting for just one moment? Or is that physically impossible?"

"I'm going to have to go with the second option."

The Doctor rolled his blue eyes and stalked around to the other side of the console, and Jack tailed him, whistling appreciatively.

"Nice bottom!" The Captain grinned flirtatiously, and the Doctor just looked at him in disgust.

"You do know that's your own body you're talking about?"

Jack's grin widened. "Yes. And it's true. I do have a nice ass."

The Doctor ran his hands through his noticeably shorter hair. "Jack," he said in a blank monotone, "don't you think we should work out what has happened first, before we think about dumb, stupid things like flirting?"

Before Jack could reply to that, the scanner on the console buzzed with static. The normal display of spinning Gallifreyan symbols morphed into a warped fish-eye view of one of the TARDIS rooms. It looked like the kitchen, furnished with cupboards and cookers as it was. Brittany grinned at them from her position at the dining table.

"If you two have recovered sufficiently, maybe you would care for breakfast. By the way, it's good to see you, Captain."

The Doctor offered her a general 'yeah', then rounded on the real Jack after the video link-up had cut out. "We can't tell her," he hissed through his new teeth, the very image of anger. "We can't let her know."

Jack nodded in agreement, losing his hands in his dimensionally transcendental pockets. "Amen to that Doctor. Or should I say… Captain Harkness?" He grinned mischievously for a few seconds, before frowning at his pockets. "Is that a piece of old chewing gum? That's disgusting!"

The Doctor just rolled his eyes and marched off with a shake of his head.


	3. Kitchen Disasters

**A/N: Come on people, I haven't had any suggestions as to what terrible situations I can throw the TARDIS team into. Please? If I have to come up with them all on my own, it's gonna take longer for me to write chapters...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or Torchwood, but who cares! I certainly don't. No, seriously, I don't. Really. Srsly.**

**

* * *

**

Chapter Three: Kitchen Disasters

"Doctor, are you alright?" Brittany asked as she jammed a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, which always seemed to be just the wrong shape for the toast _she _wanted to make.

The 'Time Lord' looked up from his mug. "What? No, no, I'm fine. That's me, fine. Of course I'm fine." Behind Brittany's back, Jack was making silencing motions with his hands.

Brittany gave the Doctor a curious look. "You sure? It's just that you're onto your third cup of coffee."

"And?"

"You never drink coffee," she pointed out, trying to dig the bread out of the toaster with a plastic knife. "And you hate that brand of cereal. You only buy 'cos Jack said he liked it."

The Doctor shrugged, and drained his cup. "A change is as good as a rest, isn't it?" he said flippantly, watching as his 'companion' attempted to dig the broken knife out of the toaster.

Brittany shook her head, and returned her full attention to the TARDIS' toaster. Messing with her head they were. The Doctor _never_ drank coffee – it was bad for his metabolism or something – and yet here he was, calmly pouring himself a fourth cup from the plunger. And then there was the matter of Jack's toast. How come she couldn't work out how to make the darned toaster work, but Jack, who spent less time in the TARDIS than she did, could make toast that came out absolutely perfect. Those two pieces of cooked bread were just sitting in front of him, one lathered in marmalade, the other in some kind of alien spread that tasted strangely like the offspring of a grapefruit and a lemon. It was like they were mocking her.

Not the toast, obviously. The Doctor and Jack. Toast couldn't mock. Well, actually, now that she mentioned it …

She shook her head. Strange, the pair of them. There was something going on here, and she was going to get to the bottom of it. She was definitely _**not**_going to have a repeat of the paintball stunt Jack had pulled last time she'd caught him in the TARDIS. Hours had been wasted cleaning green stains off her duvet cover after that. Whatever the joke was, it wasn't going to be on her, not this time.

With a heavy scowl at her less than perfect toast, Brittany took her seat at the table, watching the two men eat in silence. She picked up one of her slices of toast and, being careful to avoid the shard of broken plastic knife lodged in the centre of it, set about chewing in the loudest way possible.

It was the Doctor who snapped first. "Could you be any more annoying?" he groaned, dropping his spoon into his cereal, and act that sent tidal waves of milk slopping onto the table.

Brittany finished her toast at an infuriatingly slow rate before replying. "Yes," she said simply, drumming her fingernails on the edge of her plate to produce a noise that set teeth on edge. "Do you want me to demonstrate?"

The Doctor held up a hand. "No thanks, it's quite alright."

Brittany shrugged, and started to crunch on her other piece of toast, sending crumbs skittering across the tabletop. A long silence ensued, but when the Doctor finally opened his mouth to speak, Brittany cut him off.

"Just how long is Jack going to be staying with us?" she asked suddenly, before glancing over at Jack. "I mean, no offense Captain, but your stays with us usually end in disaster, and I just want to take suitable precautions."

The Captain grinned. "No offense taken," he said. "It is true that my very presence seems to attract danger. And gunfire. Quite a lot of gunfire." The Doctor shot Jack a scowl, which the Captain replied to with a mischievous wink.

"Yeah…" Brittany said slowly, stretching the syllable out, "as I was saying … How long is Jack going to stay with us?"

Though the question was directed at the Doctor, it was Jack who answered. "Oh, I dunno. A few days at most?" he said, licking marmalade off his fingers. "Need to get away from my office job, you know? Pushing papers can get awfully boring."

"Torchwood is not an office job!" the Doctor shot back. "It is extremely dangerous, thank you very much." Upon realising what they had just said, both the Doctor and Jack glanced at Brittany, before lapsing into an awkward silence.

She just shook her head once again and gathered up the breakfast dishes. "It's good to see you too Jack," she muttered, filling the sink with soapy water, on account of the dishwasher having broken down last week. The Doctor hadn't gotten around to fixing it yet, having more important things to do. Or so he claimed.

Jack rose up out of his seat, scooping a dishcloth off the bench. "Let me help you with that," he offered with a gentle smile, but Brittany could only feel suspicious.

"Why, that's awfully nice of you Captain," she said. "I didn't know you had the ability to actually clean, since I've never seen you attempt to clean anything. Seriously that is. Soap fights do not count."

"Well, you've gotta keep your house clean, don't you?"

Brittany narrowed her eyes. "Was that a reference to my bedroom?"

"It is a bit of a pigsty."

She dropped her scrubbing brush in the sink and stared Jack squarely in the eyes. "You've been into my bedroom then?" she asked, careful to watch his reaction.

"Of course I – no no, hold on –" He yelped as Brittany's hand connected with the side of his face, leaving a stinging red mark on his cheek.

"You pervert!" she shouted, much to the Doctor's amusement. "Going into someone's room without their permission is just wrong, and disgusting, especially when we're talking about _you_, Jack Harkness!" She rounded on the Doctor. "And what's so funny?"

He stifled a chuckle. "Nothing, I just –" He fell out of his chair with a shout when Brittany slapped him as well. She stormed out of the room, murmuring various insults under her breath.

After she had gone, Jack poked his head above the table, looking at the Doctor with the Time Lord's own deep brown eyes.

"That went well," he observed sarcastically.


	4. And That, Children, is Why You Never

**A/N: MAH GODS! I just realised I got w1nter to beta this chapter like, 3 months ago, and I only just found it... please don't kill me! *hides***

**Diclaimer, yo: I don't own Doctor Who (or Torchwood). Or much else for that matter. I almost own a laptop! Just gotta pay off that last $160 and I'm home free! Hah!**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE: AND THAT, CHILDREN, IS WHY YOU NEVER SHOULD-**

"Brittany, have you seen the Doctor?"

Brittany just looked up from a handwritten record at what she thought was Jack, but was in fact the Doctor trapped inside handsome Jack's body.

"No," she said, "he left a while back." She returned to perusing the report. "Why d'ya ask?"

The Doctor twiddled his thumbs and glanced at the door. "That man's gonna get himself into trouble." _And not in the way you're thinking_, he added silently to himself. Jack, the chronic philanderer, was masquerading around a medieval palace, full of serving girls and young princesses, in the Time Lord's own body. And he had been gone an awfully long time…

"I'm gonna go find him, okay?" the Doctor announced, rising to his feet. He subconsciously reached up to slip his glasses into his pocket, but upon discovering that he was not in fact wearing his usual brainy specs, he changed the movement into a scratch of his nose, hoping to cover up his mistake.

"Yeah, whatever," Brittany replied, not even sparing him a glance, too deeply engrossed in her reading. It was so odd, seeing different reactions from people. Normally she would be berating him to be careful and not get into any trouble, but now, with him to all intents and purposes Jack, she didn't even wave him off.

The Doctor left the musty old records room, rubbing his eyes wearily. Reading by candlelight couldn't be the best thing for your eyes, that was for sure – and Jack didn't have a pair of spectacles handy. No wonder everyone in this time period went blind at the age of forty. He mounted a long flight of stone steps, emerging into an airy corridor thronging with servants and members of the royal court going about their business. The Doctor suddenly felt very conspicuous in his long grey overcoat, an item of clothing that wouldn't be invented for a few hundred years. He normally didn't worry about modern clothing, but… He shook off the feeling, and tapped a passing maid on the shoulder.

She turned, irritated to be interrupted by someone who clearly wasn't a noble. "Sir?"

_His accent!_ The Doctor balked, unsure of whether to speak or not. America hadn't been settled yet, so good ol' 'handsome Jack's' accent wouldn't exist. He wasn't sure how well he'd be able to put on a British accent using the Captain's voice – he just didn't have enough experience in this body yet.

"Was there something you wanted, sir?" the maid prompted, eager to be on her way. "Only I've got this linen to deliver." She indicated the piles of sheets folded over her arms.

"Oh, yeah," the Doctor said, deciding there was nothing he could do about the American accent. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Tall, wears a long brown coat, walks about like he owns the place. You didn't happen to see him, did you?"

"No sir, I just work in the laundry," the maid replied unhelpfully. "You could try one of the guards. Now, if you would excuse me…" She scurried off without further ado, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

The first guard the Doctor tried was extremely unhelpful, as were was the second, third and fourth. The fifth guard stated that he may have seen such an individual heading towards the royal apartments, and so that was where the Time Lord went.

The royal apartments! This did not bode well for the Doctor's reputation at all. Jack, with his confirmed status as the worst womaniser to ever be born, was in the royal apartments. Dear Rassilon, please tell me he hasn't seduced the Queen! He was never going to live this down.

A single guard stood to attention in front of the doorway to the royal wing of the palace, polished pike held aloft. The Doctor didn't doubt that the man would know how to use the weapon, so he approached with caution.

"Hello there," he said with a friendly smile. "I was wondering whether you'd seen a tall fellow, in a long coat?"

"I mighta done," the guardsman replied sharply. "What's it to you?"

"He's a friend of mine, and I need to find him before he does something he's really gonna regret."

"Well, as a matter o' fact, I do remember lettin' such a bloke into the royal apartments," the guard admitted, lowering his voice. "Said 'e was some kind o' phys … ph … Fizz-is-shun."

"Physician, yes that's him," the Doctor confirmed. "I need to see him." He started to step towards the door, but the guard coughed pointedly. The Doctor bit his lip in annoyance, and dug a couple of gold coins out of his pocket and pressed them into the other man's hand. The guard grunted in satisfaction as he tucked the gold into a his belt pouch, and nodded the Doctor through.

The royal apartments were lavishly furnished, with colourful tapestries depicting famous battles lining the walls, and polished rosewood seats scattered about at uneven intervals. There weren't as many people here, but the corridors still had their fair share of wandering dignitaries and bustling ladies-in-waiting. It didn't take him long to find someone who'd seen Jack, and was soon standing in front of a heavy oaken door. But, despite the thickness of said door, the Doctor could still hear … giggling.

There was nothing for it. He would have to open the door, and face whatever was happening with his head held high, with dignity and –

"By the Hand of Omega!" the Doctor spluttered as he entered the room. "By all the stars in the Seven Systems, what in the Name of Rassilon were you thinking?" He shut the door, and gaped at the two figures in the room.

Jack appeared to be tucked up in bed with a very young, and suddenly self-conscious, lady-in-waiting.

"Doctor… I wasn't expecting to see you here," Jack said, actual surprise in his voice, never mind the expression on his face. "Umm… it's not what it looks like?"

The Doctor advanced on the bed, an accusing finger trained on the two figures, Jack in particular. "Not what it looks like? _Not what it looks like?_" he spat, voice raised in anger and disgust. "And just what does it look like, Jack Harkness? WHAT DOES IT BLOODY LOOK LIKE!" The Captain wasn't given a chance to reply however, despite the severity of the question posed.

"Out!" the Time Llord roared. "Out of the bed _now_!"

The Doctor cut an imposing figure when angry, and Jack immediately leapt to obey. His hand shot out from underneath the covers and scrabbled around for his clothing. Within a few seconds, he was standing in front of the Doctor, pulling on his blue pants with one hand, and trying to knot his tie with the other.

"What were you thinking Jack?" the Doctor berated, prodding the Captain so forcefully that his skinny frame almost collapsed back onto the bed. "Do you not think before you act? Didn't you spare a thought for the impact this could have on me? I have a reputation to uphold, Jack; I don't want to be known as the Last of the Time Lords with Chlamydia!"

Jack was speechless, unable to form a response. He was, however, spared from another verbal dressing-down by the knock at the door.

The room fell deathly silent as everyone turned to face the door. The Doctor shot Jack a look that said 'if you besmirch my reputation by even a fraction of a percent more than you already have, I am going to throttle you'.

The knock came again, followed by the voice of a woman.


End file.
